


Gloryhammer: Book I. Tales from the Kingdom of Fife.

by CamdenNightingale



Series: Gloryhammer, the novelisations [1]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Dragons, F/M, Fantasy Violence, Fantasy happy ending, Fantasy swearing, Goblins, I'm so effin' stoked for this you guys!, Magic, Mild Gore, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, No beta we die like Ser P, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, The GH disclaimer applies, This is my first online fic please be gentle with me, hooray!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamdenNightingale/pseuds/CamdenNightingale
Summary: Welcome to the ancient of mighty land of Caledonia! A place of magic, dragons, unicorns, wizards, and goblins. This is the story of the kingdom of Dundee, it's fall and re-forging at the hands of its young prince and his companions. Follow our heroes on their quest to defeat an evil wizard with a very silly name and save their home.
Relationships: Angus Mcfife I/Iona McDougall
Series: Gloryhammer, the novelisations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080371
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	1. Anstruther's Dark Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to my first proper fic, I'm so excited! I hope you enjoy this weird novelisation of the first GH album. We begin with a meeting between two old friends and the beginning of a prophecy. Let's go guys!

It was a dark and stormy night and it was absolutely supposed to be. The night on which a major prophecy that could possibly determine the fate of the entire future was delivered needed to be as dramatic as possible and Anstruther knew that. The high arcane tower of Cowdenbeath was never exactly warm, even on a summer’s day, but tonight it was freezing. Anstruther could hear the acolytes shivering where they stood and waited, watching him closely for the first sign of the prophecy.

Anstruther paid them no mind as he stared out of the window. While the cold was creeping into his fingers and toes, crawling down his spine, the thick fabric of his robes and cloak kept the worst of it away. He shuddered a little and continued watching the storm bubble up in the east, drawing ever closer. As a fork of lightning briefly illuminated the land, something else caught the old wizard’s eye. A single, tiny figure appeared out of the woods and slid over the ground towards the gates like a shadow. A moment after they vanished behind the wall, Anstruther watched an inky, blurred shape scale the wall with apparent ease and disappear between the buildings.

“Acolyte!”

Anstruther’s voice cut through the silent room like a knife through parchment. He whirled and the acolyte he was currently staring at jumped to attention, folding her arms behind her back respectfully. 

“Master?”

“Go to the kitchens and fetch a pot of hot chamomile tea and two cups. See if you can get some shortbread while you’re there. Oh, and a bottle beer.”

The acolyte nodded earnestly at each item on the list, but blinked up at him from under her hood at the mention of beer. 

“Master?”

“Quickly now, before my guest arrives!”

The acolyte bobbed into a bow. 

“Of course, Master.”

She turned and scurried out of the door. While Anstruther often found anyone under the age of fifty to be irritating, juvenile and often boring, particularly if they were training in magic, he did enjoy how swiftly obedient the acolytes were.

He moved to the centre of the room and sat at his desk, steepling his fingers in front of him. For a few long, very tense minutes, Anstruther sat in silence, listening to the rumbles of the distant storm and the now three acolytes shivering. A chilly breeze blew through the tower as the fourth acolyte returned, tray in hand. She set it on the table before Anstruther and returning to her position. Everything was there, the hot tea, shortbread and even the beer. Anstruther plucked the bottle from the tray and tucked in behind his side of the desk. A long minute later and Anstruther spoke up again. 

“Why don’t you four go and warm up in the antechamber for a few minutes? I think that the prophecy can wait for you to stop shivering.”

The acolytes blinked at him in shock for a moment before the old wizard gestured emphatically.

“Well, go on then! I can’t be expected to foretell the future over the sound of your teeth chattering!”

The four acolytes glanced at each other nervously before dutifully trooping into the antechamber. Anstruther could hear the brazier crackling away from here. Part of him almost wanted to go and get warm himself, but he stayed. This was far more important. A few seconds after the last acolyte disappeared, the door to the tower creaked open. 

Anstruther sat up straighter, folding his hands in front of his chest as his old friend entered the room. Almost nothing of him was visible under the floor length inky blue cloak; even his arms were completely hidden. The shadowy hood was up and hid his face, long pointed tip tossed over one shoulder. Only his chin and the neatly pointed, dark beard were just barely visible in the tower’s dim lighting. 

“Hello, old friend.”

Anstruther spoke quietly, his voice echoing around the room, now quiet but for the new arrival’s almost silent footsteps.

“I thought they’d never leave...”

He sat silently on the other side of Anstruther’s desk. His pointed, almost hawkish face was more visible up close and Anstruther shuddered. It had been over thirty years since they’d been face to face and the newcomer hadn’t aged a day. His hair was still dark and glossy, his steel grey eyes still bright and sharp, he was still young.  
“You haven’t aged a day, my friend.”

“Thank you.” He smiled wryly, raising an eyebrow, “And thank you for the tea, Anstruther.” He reached out and wrapped his hands around the teapot, Anstruther could see that he was shivering, his fingertips were a little blue, “Is that right? Aren’t you Master Anstruther or something like that now, old friend?”

“Magister.”

Anstruther grinned. He’d held the title for over a decade now. The newcomer snorted, pouring himself a cup of tea and grabbing at the plate of shortbread. 

“I still remember when you were a spotty teenager who couldn’t get a date to save his life, I‘m struggling to imagine you as a damn Magister!”

“Thank you.”

There was no bitterness in Anstruther’s voice, he couldn’t possibly hold any ill will to someone he had been through so much with. Anstruther placed the beer bottle on the table with a faint clink. His friend’s face broke into a wide grin. 

“For old time’s sake.”

“You sentimental child...”

It was a strange thing, a man who looked like he was in his thirties at most calling a Magister approaching his ninetieth year a child. But it was nonetheless accurate. They had first met when Anstruther was 13, and his old friend hadn’t aged a single day. The beer vanished inside the cloak in a blink. For a few minutes, they sat quietly, shared the tea and the newcomer stealthily pocketed the entire plate of shortbread. When the silence began to grow a little uncomfortable, Anstruther broke it. 

“Why did you come here, Ralathor?”

The shadows in the hood seemed to deepen drastically, the face all but vanishing as Ralathor leaned back. He took a deep breath and took a long drink of tea. 

“I go where I am needed but... It’s the anniversary. I went to check on... It’s just you, me and him left now. I felt it was my duty to stop by and see you. And I... I missed home... I wanted to come back, even if only for a very short while.”

“And you call me sentimental... How was...” Anstruther shuddered, this was something he hadn’t let himself think about for a very long time, “How were the shadowlands?”  
Ralathor let out a hiss through his teeth. 

“They were the shadowlands and he was the same as when we last saw him. Maybe you’re right, maybe I am getting sentimental in my old age, but I just... I wanted to see a friend again, I suppose...”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Anstruther poured another two cups of now cooling tea. 

“I never found out, old friend, but how do you feel about prophecy?”

“Ugh!” Ralathor gave a derisive snort, “Anstruther, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn very quickly that knowledge of the future is damning. I’ve seen wiser men than you and I waste away, go insane because of it. The future is going to happen regardless of what you think and of what you want. If you try to change it, you’ll just end up setting everything in motion. Why?”

Anstruther shrugged and tried his best not to be offended. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t already guessed his old friend’s opinion, no powers of foresight needed. 

“I’ve made somewhat of a name for myself as a prophet since we last saw one another.”

“Ew.”

“There’s going to be one tonight.”

“Oh...” Ralathor leaned back, looking for all the world like a statue, “Do you want me to leave?”

Anstruther slowly shook his head, “No, I wouldn’t dream of sending you away, old friend. I feel that you should be here for it anyway. This prophecy is going to be a long time in the making and I’d like it to be heard by someone who will be able to see it to fruition.”

The hooded figure didn’t move, but Anstruther knew when Ralathor was raising an eyebrow at him. The hood tilted slightly to look out of the window. The storm rumbled in the distance. Silent as a shadow, Ralathor stood. His cape fell around him, fabric shifting ever so slightly as it caught a little of the breeze. 

“I’m sure your apprentices or whatever they’re called are plenty warm by now, so I’ll head off.”

“They don’t bite. It’s not like any of them know anything about you, they won’t ask you questions or even talk to you if I tell them not to.”

Anstruther caught a flash of teeth from somewhere in the shadows. 

“They’re so well trained? No, I’m not in the mood to be seen right now. You’re lucky I was feeling so sentimental or I wouldn’t even be here right now. I’ll stay and hear your prophecy, but you won’t see me.”

Anstruther stood slowly, unfolding his arms. 

“Will I ever see you again, Ralathor?”

The hooded figure stiffened. After a moment, he moved over to Anstruther and placed a still young hand on his shoulder. 

“I don’t know. There’s been some disturbances in the highlands that I have to look into, but I will come back here as soon as I can. You know how hard it is for me to keep track of time. I will try and see you again, old friend.”

Ralathor’s hand squeezed his shoulder for a second, then it was gone, disappearing into the cape. Though Anstruther couldn’t see it through the shadows, he knew that Ralathor’s arms were folded behind his back, as they always were. The hood bobbed once in a nod. Then, with a faint swish of fabric, Ralathor turned and ghosted out of the room.

As the door clicked closed, Anstruther sat again and silently began counting. He’d just reached seven when the antechamber door opened and the quartet of acolytes dutifully trooped in. Ralathor had always had supernatural good timing, even for someone who spent time around mages. They took up their places and Anstruther leaned back in his chair. He could feel his mind starting drift off into the unnatural state of prophecy. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts slip away. 

When Anstruther woke, he was in his chambers. Every bone, muscle, and tendon ached his mouth was dry, his eyes were gritty, and his head was pounding. Why, oh why the act of telling the future had to be so exhausting was truly arcane to him. 

Slowly, after a long few minutes of finding himself, Anstruther sat up. As he did do, a scroll of parchment he hadn’t noticed shifted to one side. He picked it up, and felt a shiver go through his fingers as he unfurled it. It was, as all tellings of the future were, laid out very simply. His name and the date and time it had been made were neatly printed at the top, followed by the prophecy itself. Anstruther felt a shiver run down his spine as he realised that it was but a single line. The shorter the prophecy, the worse it was, that was always the way it went... However, the scroll appeared to have been vandalised somewhat. At the top, an extra word had been added in a hurried scrawl that was familiar to the old wizard. Now the title read:

“Dark Prophecy of Anstruther.”

Under it was the single line that told the future. 

“The prophecy is written, Dundee will fall!”

Anstruther had never heard of this Dundee, but already he felt saddened by its demise, countless centuries in the future. All places and all people eventually met their ends; but it truly hit it home for him, seeing it writing down in cold black ink... 

Anstruther hoped that somewhere, somehow, his old friend would be there to help care for those who inevitably lost everything. He went where he was needed, after all.


	2. The Prince of Fife.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! This took a lot longer than expected but here we go! Everyone say hi to our main character!

The dawn found Dundee as it very often did in September. Despite, or possibly in spite of, the oncoming winter, the mighty city was still a bright and safe place for any.

The market was bustling even as the sun was only just rising. Goods from all across Caledonia, Mercia, Britannia, Hibernia, and Cambria were being passed from hand to hand. People shouted about their wears, their uses, how much they were worth.

Ships of a multitude of designs glided down the river Tay, gleaming like silver in the early light. With them, they brought people, things and stories from far off Gaul, The Northlands, and even the distant and exotic Roman Empire.

Dundee’s arcane college, the hub for all magical activity in the city, was already paining the sky with multicoloured smoke and sparks. Mages tended to be awake 'till midnight and up with the dawn chorus. 

Not that Angus could appreciate it right now. Not with the fully armoured knight charging him with sword drawn. Angus leapt backwards and to the side, one hand dropping to his own blade. 

He felt it catch slightly, felt himself fumble the draw, and cursed internally. The knight was upon him; the sword carving through the air dangerously close to Angus's head. He scrambled backwards, finally managing to draw his own weapon.

At this point, he might as well not have bothered. 

The knight had a two handed broadsword, Angus only had a short sword and a dagger tucked in his boot. A dagger he couldn't possibly reach without leaving himself very open to an attack.

The knight turned, swinging again. Angus tried his best to parry the incoming strike, but the knight was much stronger. The broadsword was changed to a two handed grip and swung low in a wide arc. 

Angus realised what was happening half a heartbeat too late. 

He tried to quickly move himself as the sword caught him beneath both knees.

There was a flash of pain. 

A brief moment of weightlessness as nothing connected him to the Earth. 

Then Angus hit the ground hard, with a gasp.

As he struggled to regain his breath, Angus heard the knight’s footsteps on the grass as they moved towards him, towards his head. His sword had gone flying and he still couldn't reach the dagger. He was still trying desperately to breath, unable to fully lift his head, as the tip of the sword pressed into his throat. Angus grimaced. 

He knew what came next. 

“Exactly how many times have I told you to watch your damn footing?”

Angus spat out a chunk of dirt and did his best to growl. 

“It’s probably well over three hundred now! When are you actually going to remember? When are you going to listen to me, Angie?”

“When you...” Angus wheezed, “Stop calling me that!”

“Ooh, well, that’s never gonna happen, Angie." The gods-awful nickname was punctuated with the training sword bonking him gently on the head, "So I hope you enjoy being friends with the grass! Not that anyone’ll notice the stains with how much green you wear.”

Angus finally managed to look up and glare daggers as the grinning knight removed her helmet. Ser Brianna McKirnan of Glasgow, sworn to McFife, Lord Commander of the Crownsguard, grinned down at him. She was Angus's personal bodyguard, unofficial tutor, and a good friend. Even if she was particularly vicious when it came to actually training him...

"No use of your dagger?"

As soon as she spoke, Angus lunged. He grabbed the dagger and pressed its blunt edge into Brianna's thigh. A wound there, even a little one, would have an enemy bleeding out in minutes.

"Bloody show off."

"One to me?"

"No, and I think you know exactly why."

Angus sighed, dropping the dagger and leaning forward. He could feel the dew on the grass beginning to soak through his sleeves onto his forearms.

"Because if this was actual combat I'd be dead right now..."

"You would be very dead right now. C'mon, get up."

Brianna wrapped a hand under his arm and yanked him roughly up. She was a little taller than than Angus (and he was not exactly short) with cropped, wiry hair somewhere between ginger and blonde. Her nose had been broken twice, but had set remarkably well both times. The same could not, unfortunately, be said for her jaw. It had been broken badly in battle and gave her a very crooked, impish grin. 

A very impish grin that revealed itself now as she affectionately ruffled Angus's hair with a calloused hand. He did his best to smack her away. 

"You're a mess."

"Oh, I wonder why that is!" Angus snapped,

Brianna snorted, "Yeah, I wonder. Get your sword, let's go again."

"Again?" Angus could hear the whine creeping into his voice and he hated it, "Brianna, we've been training for an hour! I'm exhausted, can't we take a break?"

"You think I was feeling especially fresh during the Siege of Dunkeld?" Brianna folded her arms, reaching up to tap her broken jaw, "I wasn't."

"I know, but... We're doing ambush training. I wouldn’t be tired during an ambush.”

Brianna grinned, rolling her eyes at the excuse, “Alright fine! I’ll get us some breakfast. You still need to find your sword though!”

Angus nodded and turned away. He scanned the hillside for a moment before spotting his sword, lying in the grass. He picked it up, grimaced, and sheathed it. Brianna had been training him for nearly five years now. Five years and he still had yet to get it. At this rate, he never would.

It shouldn't have mattered as much as it did, shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. Lords were expected to be able to sword fight; to defend their land, honour and titles, to lead their army into battle. Angus McFife, Prince of mighty Dundee and the kingdom of Fife, couldn't even defend his own dignity... He was trying! But for some reason, the gods had seen fit not to bless him with any real martial prowess, much to the disappointment of both Brianna and his father.

"Angus? Are you alright over there?"

Angus jumped. He turned to see Brianna by the horses, his grey and her chestnut, a water skin in one hand. Despite being slightly backlit by the rising sun, he could just about make out her worried face. He started up the hill towards her. 

"I'm fine, Brianna. Just thinking."

"Anything I can help with?" She held out the water skin. 

Angus took a long drink, doing his best to stall, "You're already doing everything you can."

Brianna eyed him curiously, but didn't pry. They sat on a small, rocky outcropping, not yet warmed by the sun, and ate. It was a very simple breakfast; bread, cheese, meat, some dried slices of apple. It's was a step and a half up from peasant food and Angus's father would have thrown a fit if he knew, but he didn't know.

As far as Angus's father knew, the Lord Commander was just training his son and that was all. Neither of them ever mentioned the day trips, the lunches, the general fun they had. As far as everyone was concerned, Lord Commander McKeirnan certainly was not knocking the Prince around like a ragdoll while she trained him. What the King didn't know wouldn't hurt him. 

It might well hurt Angus though...

"Brianna?"

"Mm?"

"I'd, um, I'd like to head back into Dundee after we've eaten."

Brianna looked up from where she was carefully constructing a sandwich.

"We're supposed to train for at least another hour, if not more."

"I know... There's someone I want to watch arrive, is all."

Brianna raised an eyebrow, "The McDougalls won't arrive until noon. Who's so important that you want to cut your final training session short?"

"Um..." Angus felt a blush start to rise on his cheeks, "The Knights of Crail..."

It was all but impossible to grow up in Fife without hearing the tales. A tiny little town on the opposite side of the firth of Tay, Crail had grown a truly glorious reputation over the years. It's small but well-fortified castle housed an order of templar knights, and they were mighty indeed. In the almost four hundred years since their formation, the Knights of Crail had yet to loose a fight, and they rode into battle on the backs of giant eagles. 

Angus was something of a fan of the Knights of Crail; learning all their stories and tales. He had often seen them from a distance, but had never actually met any of them in person. A group of them were supposed to be arriving in Dundee today and Angus was hoping to meet them. 

Brianna raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Really? Those show-offs? That's who you're so excited about?"

"Yes! Brianna, I'll never understand what you've got against them! They ride into battle mounted on giant eagles for gods sakes!"

"Would you be so enamoured if it were giant badgers? I think not!" Brianna took a bite of bread and somehow made it look derisive, "I've seen them in battle, Angus. I'll hand it to them, they look very impressive and they know how to fight, but they showed up at the last second and took all the glory, while us on the ground did all the hard work."

"That was just Dunkeld! What about when they held off the fall of Cowdenbeath for fourteen days?"

"What about it? That's much more easy when you're airborne and doing archery. Get on the ground and I bet you I could take any of them!"

Angus grinned, "Okay then."

"What?"

"I said, 'okay then'. When they get here, after I've said hello, you one-on-one duel someone from Crail. How about it?"

Brianna glared at him, pale eyes narrowed slightly, mouth quirked up ever so slightly in a smile. "Alright. You're on. Now, let's get back to it!"

Brianna lunged at Angus, sword already in hand. Angus scrambled off the outcropping and bolted. 

<><> []==== <><>

They trained for another hour before heading back into the city. By that time, Angus was tired and, as he always was after a training session with Brianna, sore in places that should not reasonably be sore. How on Earth a bone managed to ache, let alone so much, was a mystery. 

They rode through the city at a slow canter, taking their time and seeing the sights. Angus had seen the city of Dundee almost every day of his life and he never tired of it. If anything, he grew to love it more and more each day.

The brightness and vivacity that flowed through the city no matter the time of year. It was, he liked to imagine, a mirror of himself. No matter the situation, Angus tried his best to remain positive and Dundee remained strong in the face of any adversity. At the centre, right at the heart of it all, was home. 

The castle was big and old and sturdy. Built by the mighty Dundax himself, it was not the prettiest of castles, but it had withstood more than its fare share of sieges over the years. On either side of its gates, Dundee's banners blew in the slight breeze. A pair of crossed war hammers, snow white on emerald green. 

As they rode through the open gates, Angus saw something that made him wish he was still out on the hill, getting knocked into the mud by Brianna. 

King Robert McFife V was standing before the castle's grand entrance, long green cloak fluttering slightly. His arms were folded and his face grim. Angus felt a shiver run down his spine. 

"Looks like trouble." Brianna said quietly, "Want me to come with?"

"I-" Angus's words caught before they fully formed. He cleared his throat, "I'd like that, Brianna. Thank you..."

They dismounted. After Brianna had whistled over a pair of stable hands, they started towards the King. 

He looked very much like an older version of Angus. King Robert had much more sharply angular face than his son, with dark brown hair and beard cut short and neat. The most obvious difference between them was in their eyes.

Both the same shade of bright, vibrant green. King Robert's were cold and harsh. 

They stopped a few steps below the King. 

"Lord Commander, you're expected by the royal smith. I want to make sure that your ceremonial armour looks presentable. You are dismissed."

Brianna huffed out a sigh. She reached up and rubbed Angus's shoulder.

"I'll see you in a few hours, my Prince. Sire." She gave a slight bow.

With that, she was gone. Angus was alone with his father. Despite the courtyard bustling with activity, preparations for tomorrow, Angus was very much alone. 

"Come on."

Angus fell into step behind his father as they walked through the castle. Servants hopped out of their way, dropping into bows. They walked in silence but for their footsteps, that was always the way between them, until they reached King Robert's study. 

It was a lavish room; fine tapestries depicting Dundee's history decorated the walls, a fire always crackling in the hearth, a bookshelf in one corner. It was, Angus supposed, a very comfortable room. He had never felt a trace of comfort in there; only his Father's cold, overpowering presence. 

King Robert sat behind the polished oak desk and steepled his fingers, glaring at his son.

"You're a mess, Angus. How was training?"

King Robert's voice was always toneless when he was speaking to his son. Angus knew that he didn't actually care how training had gone, the hollow smalltalk was part of their routine. It was something they always did. Avoiding making eye contact, Angus kept any emotion out of his voice as he spoke. 

"It went well, Father. The Lord Commander put me through my paces, but I think I'm getting the hang of it."

"About time." King Robert snapped, "It would be inappropriate for Dundee's Crown Prince to be so unskilled with weaponry. Now, I'm not going to mince words here, Son. We have important matters to discuss. Sit."

Angus sat. He didn't have a choice. He could feel himself begin to shiver. If his father was skipping their traditional verbal duel, and referring to him as 'Son', that meant there was trouble.

"The McDougalls will be arriving at noon today. I expect you to greet them with me."

"I was-"

"I also expect you to conduct yourself accordingly." King Robert's voice took on an icy cold air, "As of tomorrow, you will be a married man and Crown Prince of Fife, my heir apparent. I will not tolerate another incident, or have you insult the Princess again."

"Father, it was an ac-"

"Angus!"

King Robert stood abruptly, slamming his hands on the desk and looming over his son. Angus flinched, shrinking back into his chair. 

"No more excuses! You almost destroyed the most important alliance in Fife's history with your childish behaviour and you will take responsibility for that! Go, think over what I've said and make yourself presentable. Now!"

Angus stood and bowed stiffly. King Robert sat again and didn't acknowledge his son as he all but ran from the study. 

The door creaked closed behind Angus and he broke into a sprint. He bolted through the castle, paying no attention to where he was going or to the people he tore past. He needed to get away, just get as far away from all of this as possible. 

He felt tears start to sting his eyes. One mistake; one stupid, childish, idiotic mistake! That was all it had been!

He had been thirteen years old, still a child for gods sakes, and he had been playing a game. It had been a Kingsmoot, the once-in-a-decade gathering of all the Kings, Lords, and Chieftains of Caledonia, meeting under a banner of peace discuss plans for the future. He and a few other boys had been pretending to go on a quest; they were off to slay a dragon.

Princess McDougall had wanted to join in. 

Angus, who had yet to have some sense knocked into him curtesy of Brianna, had said that girls couldn't go on quests. What he had said exactly was that in great legends girls were either scullery maids, witches, or (and this had been the problem remark) damsels who needed to be saved.

That had been the most monumentally stupid thing he had ever said. So monumentally stupid, in fact, that the Princess who Angus had been betrothed to since the age of five, had taken offence and gone to her father.

It had taken everything in King Robert's power for the alliance not to crumble before it had even formed. He still acted like Angus had done it on purpose. He hadn't, of course he hadn't! He had been a stupid child and he regretted it every day. 

Angus was faintly aware of there being rough stone beneath his hands. He swam back to reality and realised that he was climbing. 

The castle had several towers, all of which were quite tall, and Angus's favourite was the tallest. It was his favourite because of its large, open windows and the pillars holding up the roof had several natural handholds formed by the wind. Angus climbed up, onto the roof and curled his knees up to his chest. He sat, staring out over the kingdom that would one day be his and did his best not to cry. 

Usually, being up on top of the tower made Angus feel a lot better. From here, he could see miles and miles of the kingdom; the firth of Tay stretching out to the sea, the fields marching off into forests, mountains rising up to scrape at the sky, the city fanning out beneath him, his home. 

"Angus? Are you up here?"

Brianna. Angus shuffled forward, so he was lying on his stomach and peeped over the edge, into the tower. Brianna, appearing upside down, was standing in the middle of the tower in her full ceremonial armour. Green stained metal, gilded with gold. Very beautiful, but impractically designed and made of a weak metal. There was an equally fancy sword on her hip.

"Ah, there you are. Are you alright?"

"I'm-" Angus flinched as his voice broke, "I'm doing okay. I just... I needed to be alone and up high for a bit... Join me?"

Brianna folded her arms, no easy feat in her current armour.

"I'm not a young woman anymore, Angie. Even when I could climb up that, I would've had trouble in this!" She banged a hand into her chest plate, "It's ridiculous! I feel like a trussed up yuletide goose!"

"You look it, too!"

Angus grinned as Brianna glared up at him.

"I climbed up all those stairs in this heavy, impractical armour just to make sure that you were okay, and this is the thanks I get for it?" She grinned, "If that's how I'm going to be treated, I don't think I'll tell you the good news!"

She turned, starting back towards the stairs. Angus swung himself off the roof and landed neatly on the tower floor.

"There's news?"

"Oh, so you do want to know! Alright then. The sentries spotted some guests approaching the city. They're entirely airborne."

"Crail?"

Angus felt some of the unhappiness and shame he had been feeling burn off with excitement. This was what he needed, a little distraction and some fun before the arrival of his betrothed. That was still such a hard concept to wrap his head around. 

"I can't think of anyone else who would show up like that. Well? Are you feeling up to heading down and finally saying hello?"

"Oh, definitely!" Angus grinned, "I should probably get something a bit more formal on first, do you know where the eyrie was set up for them?"

"Western courtyard."

"Thanks, I'll see you down there!"

Angus turned and ran down the tower. He knew that he would have to deal with what his father had told him at some point, some point very soon, but for now he had time to enjoy himself for a little longer and he intended to!

<><> []==== <><>

A trio of massive silver eagles roared overhead. They banked around castle before coming to a beautiful, graceful landing in the western courtyard. They gleamed storm grey in the morning light, steaming ever so slightly as they came to rest. Another two wheeled above, lead by a smaller eagle, shining brighter than the rest. 

This leading eagle soared forward, its wings beating the air, as it landed and the rider slid gracefully to his feet. 

Angus, who had been watching the display with slack-jawed delight, all but skipped as he ran down into the courtyard. Over his excitement, he could practically hear Brianna rolling her eyes and thought he heard her say something that sounded suspiciously like;

“Bloody show offs...”

All the knights wore matching red and blue tabards over white, with segmented guards of toughened leather on their arms and legs. It was all light and intensely practical, easy to move in. The knight who had rode the leading eagle had a smoke grey cloak draped around his shoulders, held in place by a gold clasp in the shape of an eagle. 

As he removed his helmet, one of the other knights tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards Angus. 

He had long, thin brown hair and a chin beard, with sharp blue grey eyes. Like most of the other knights, he had several silver rings in both ears. He was not an especially large man; more lithe and wiry, almost cat-like and with an air of command over the others. The cat-like impression was only enhanced by the way he moved, how his eyes flickered to everything, clearly taking in all the little details. 

A look of realisation dawned on his face as Angus drew nearer, and he gave a wide grin. 

“You’re Prince McFife, if I’m not mistaken.”

Up close, he looked far too young to be a knight, in his late twenties or early thirties at most. The gold clasp on his cloak spoke of rank, as well. 

“Yes! Yes, I am! I'm Angus." Angus felt pride start to well up inside him, the knights recognised him!

"Honoured to meet you, Prince Angus." The knight bent into a slight bow and gave the Crailian salute, holding a fist over his heart, "Ser Proletius, Grand Master of Crail. Thank you for allowing us to attend your coronation."

"Oh, of course! Wouldn't dream of not inviting the Knights of Crail! Can I, uh, can I say hello to the eagles?"

"I don't see why not." Ser Proletius grinned, holding out an arm, "Most won't acknowledge you, but Iolaire here should be feeling personable."

Ser Proletius placed a hand on Angus's shoulder and led him towards the eagle he had rode in. He gave a sharp whistle and the great silver head slowly lowered towards them. A gleaming golden eye the size of Angus's fist blinked at him. Angus reached up and rested his hand very, very gently on the eagle’s beak. 

It was warmer than he’d expected, the surface heated by the sun. The eagle made a low, quiet purring noise as Angus began petting its beak. 

“She likes you, Your Highness.”

“That big bird isn’t going to bite him, is it?”

The eagle’s head rose, giving a sharp crooning noise as it pointed its beak towards the shout. Angus and the knight, Ser Proletius, turned towards the speaker. 

Brianna was standing a safe distance from from the eagles, eyeing them and the knights with considerable concern. She’d ditched her ceremonial gear and returned to her preferred tunic and toughened leather jacket. 

Ser Proletius blinked. He didn't look especially offended, more a little bit baffled. 

"Of course not. Iolaire knows who her enemies are, Lady-"

"Ser."

"Oh, Ser, my apologies." Proletius bent into another slight bow, "But I can promise you, one knight to another, your Prince is perfectly safe."

Angus raised his hands and the eagle bumped its beak into his palm. 

"Brianna, come and say hello!"

“Is that an order, Your Highness?” Brianna hissed,

“Oh yes!”

Brianna took a few half hearted steps forward. She was staring up at the eagle, looking as though she'd rather be doing just about anything else. Ser Proletius was watching her curiously, frowning slightly.

"Ser Brianna... I know that name, I'm sure of it. Cadmus?"

A very tall knight with neat black hair, the one who had alerted Proletius to Angus's approach, gave Brianna a searching look. Brianna briefly gave him a sharp glare, before returning her eyes to the eagle. After a moment, both he and Ser Proletius spoke at the same time.

"Dunkeld!"

Brianna jumped. Angus turned from where he was trying to entice the eagle back down. Brianna almost looked afraid. Both knights were grinning widely. Proletius took a step towards Brianna, who narrowed her eyes. 

"I knew I recognised you from somewhere! You were at the Siege of Dunkeld, weren't you? With the Glaswegian forces. Clan, um, Clan McKiernan?"

"Yes. That's me." Brianna spoke stiffly. Angus could see the twist of her jaw that showed she was angry but doing her best to keep it together, "Sworn to McFife now, in the Crownsguard. I’m Angus’s bodyguard. "

"Oh, congratulations! I also apologise, I meant to speak to your clan at Dunkeld, but I missed you. I wanted to thank you, you and your forces defended the city spectacularly."

Angus grinned. Brianna was shuffling from side to side, no longer angry. Instead, she looked embarrassed. Brianna took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. 

"Ser Proletius, I need to apologise to you too. I may have... I have misjudged you and your knights. For the past few years, I've thought that the Knights of Crail were far too concerned with their own reputation, especially compared to us slumming it on the ground. I was wrong and I’m... I’m sorry."

"Hey, you have no need to apologise.” Proletius smiled gently, taking half a step back to give Brianna her space. “A lot of people tend to assume that; we ride giant eagles, it looks very flashy. But, unlike the previous Grand Master, I don’t think that makes us better than any other knight. I'd rather show off our actual skills than anything else."

"Says he who spends hours at a time doing acrobatics!" The dark haired knight, Cadmus, shouted.

Ser Proletius rounded on him, "Cadmus!" 

There was much less anger in his voice than Angus expected. If one of the other Crownsguards had spoken to Brianna like that, she would've shouted them to the moon and back again. The tone of Ser Proletius' voice was similar to the way he and Brianna 'fought' with each other; friendship. 

While Proletius admonished his visibly delighted knight, Brianna stood next to Angus and placed a hand on his shoulder. She gave a very slight, very threatening squeeze. 

"If you say 'I told you so'..."

"I wasn't going to, I swear it! Are you going to say hello to Iolaire?"

"Absolutely not."

As the still beaming Cadmus ducked behind his own eagle, Proletius turned back towards them. He looked more affectionately irritated than angry; the way Brianna did when Angus was being deliberately annoying. For Angus, that confirmed that they were friends, they didn't look similar enough to be brothers. 

"My apologies once again, Ser Brianna, Prince Angus. My wing-leader has decided that it's his sworn duty to make sure I never develop anything even remotely like an ego. And I do acrobatics to keep my skills sharp."

"I think I like Ser Cadmus." Angus grinned.

"Don't encourage him. Please."

Brianna cleared her throat, "Ser Proletius, if it's not incredibly presumptuous to ask, would you be willing to have a duel with me?"

"Hm? Oh, of course, Ser Brianna. I'd be honoured, where and when?" 

"An hour past noon tomorrow, right here I think."

"I'll see you here then." Proletius smiled and gave a slightly sarcastic salute. 

"Thank you. If you've finished befriending the big bird, Angus?"

"Alright, I have... Thank you for letting me say hello to Iolaire, Ser Proletius."

Proletius nodded, turning back to his eagle, apparently focused on tending to the great bird. Ser Cadmus, who was still hiding behind his eagle, gave them a quick wave. Brianna wrapped an arm around Angus's shoulder and began leading him away. Angus turned to watch the knights and their eagles as they grew smaller and smaller. It was a mighty and a beautiful thing; if Angus hadn't been a Prince, or if he had a brother or two, he would've liked to join them. It was a daydream of his on occasion, one he hadn't even told Brianna and he told her a lot.

Ser Angus McFife, Knight of Crail. 

Sadly, that was something he'd never get to be. He was destined to be the King of Dundee and all of Fife. And that was... That was okay! He'd been training to be king since the age of 10, almost a decade ago now. He knew how to be a king.

But it would've been nice, wouldn't it? It would have been fun to go on a quest of some kind... Travel to distant lands with a hand picked group of heroes, find a magic artefact of some kind, then return to slay some unspecified evil that was ravaging the lands. It was something Angus would have loved do.

He was okay with being a king. It wasn't something he especially wanted to do, but it was something that he could do. 

<><> []==== <><>

Angus watched the royal McDougall carriage as it trundled into into the courtyard with something like dread. He was standing in front of the castle doors, next to his father, in full ceremonial gear.  
An emerald green tunic with a golden knot work trim, a long cape, segmented green leather braces and greaves, and an embossed leather belt with a golden buckle.   
His usually floppy mop of dark brown hair had been forcibly combed and flattened into what Father considered to be 'presentable' and pinned under a thin golden circlet with a single green gem in the centre. 

Angus was fidgeting. He never could keep still for particularly long, especially when he was nervous. Watching the carriage's laborious approach; nervous just barely did what he was feeling justice. 

Brianna, and the rest of the Crownsguards, were stood in ordered rows behind Angus and King Robert. Brianna was trying to keep her eyes respectfully ahead, but kept twitching to give Ser Proletius a slight scowl.

The rest of the guards and the guests who had already arrived were watching and waiting, including the Knights of Crail. 

The carriage rolling to a stop jolted Angus from his distraction. He felt himself start to shiver as the door opened and a trio of figures emerged. King Robert spread his arms and strode down the steps.

"One... Two... Three." Angus whispered,

He stepped forward, behind his father and bowed with him. 

"King Fergus McDougall of Edinburgh, Queen Maura of Skye. I welcome you to mighty Dundee. We are honoured to have you here with us today."

A hush fell over the castle as King and Queen McDougall emerged. 

"King Robert McFife of Dundee. Good to see you again.”

King Fergus was a big man. Not just tall, but very strong, with the bering and look of highlander. He had greying red hair and icily pale blue eyes. His thick arms were heavily tattooed with dark blue whorls and knot work.   
Queen Maura was very pale, with thin hair so light blonde that it was almost white. She looked a little out of place in the McDougall tartan and with a wrist patterned by woad. But she kept her head high and proud. 

King Fergus stomped up the stairs and clapped Angus on the shoulder so hard it almost knocked him over. 

“Prince Angus. Good to see you, Lad. You’ve grown, how are you?”

“I am very well, Sire. Thank you. I hope you and your lady wife are well?"

"Of course we are!" Another harsh pat, Angus felt his knees buckle a little, "But we're not here for the niceties, are we? We're here for the good of both of our kingdoms! Iona! Come on out and meet you're future husband!"

Angus felt his pulse speed up considerably. He hadn't seen the Princess in five years, nearly six. He had been an entirely different person back then, one he'd prefer not to think about any time soon. But what of her? What would she have become in those five years they had spent apart? Would she be anything like the wild little girl he only just remembered?

He remembered a tiny, skinny little girl mostly hidden behind behind a lion-like mane of spiky red hair. She had been just as fierce as the lion she reminded Angus of. Almost half his size despite being barely a year younger than him, but so loud! When they had rejected her from the game she had shouted at him and the other boys so loudly that he had thought the ground was shaking. 

He had no idea who or what was about to step from that carriage. 

Angus felt his heart skip a beat.

She was still small, still with that autumn-red hair, and she still had those piercingly cold, flame blue eyes. But she had changed, just as he had. Her hair was tied back neatly in several intricate braids, no longer a lion's mane. She wore a long dress of silver blue fabric, with a light grey belt and mantle. Everything was studded with pearls, small gemstones and what looked like tiny seashells, making the Princess gleam like frost in the bright noon day light.   
She was sharp featured, with high check bones and she was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful woman Angus had ever seen.

She strode up the stairs silently, hands folded neatly in front of her. Angus wondered if she could hear his heartbeat, it certainly seemed loud enough to him! In fact, his heartbeat seemed so loud that Angus wouldn't have been surprised if the whole courtyard could hear it. Father was probably going to shout at him because of it.

Then she was there, standing directly in front of him and Angus couldn't breathe.

Princess Iona McDougall gave a polite, respectful bow before straightening and making direct eye contact with Angus. There was a brief pause. Angus realised after a moment that he was supposed to say something, he couldn't think what though, wasn't even sure that he could speak at the moment. He felt King Robert tense up next to him. Iona coughed quietly. 

"Honoured to meet you once again, Prince Angus."

"And-" Angus heard his voice crack slightly and felt the nearly overwhelming urge to curl up in a little ball and scream. He cleared his throat, "And I am honoured to meet you, Princess Iona. Welcome to Dundee."

Was he the only one who was nervous? Did the Princess feel like she was going to fall over as much as he did? Were her legs hurting, her hands shaking? Did her throat feel like it was going to close up and her voice completely fail her? It couldn't be just him, could it? Then she smiled at him and the rest of the world totally ceased to exit.

"Thank you, Prince Angus. It's a beautiful city and I'm delighted to be here."

Iona held out a hand. Angus's hand felt like it weighed about as much as a horse as he tired to lift his arm. He somehow managed to take Iona's hand, bent into a bow and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. How Angus managed to do all that without falling over and rolling down the stairs was a damn miracle. He gently held her hand for a second longer than necessary and Iona smiled.

Her knuckles and the back of her hand were patterned with fine lines of woad. There was a triskelion on her inner wrist and a trinity knot on the back of her hand. The marks weren't just there, they stretched to her wrist and disappeared up her sleeve. 

"Well!" King Fergus boomed, "Good to see these two are getting along well! Robert, let's get inside and start hammering out this alliance."

He gave Angus one final thump on the shoulder and headed up the stairs. King Robert silently turned and they entered the castle side by side, Queen Maura following a few steps behind. Angus felt something tug at his hand and realised with a jolt that he was still holding Iona's hand.

He snatched his whole arm back and gave Iona an embarrassed smile. She nodded, making eye contact again. There was nervousness in her eyes too. She took a single step forward so that they were level on the stairs. She nodded and they walked side by side into the castle. 

<><> []==== <><>

"I've never felt anything like that before, Brianna!"

"Uh huh?"

Angus was pacing his room excitedly and had been for the past five minutes. He couldn't stop thinking about it: that little smile and nod, the flicker of fear in Iona's eyes, the tiny squeeze she'd given his hand before he let go.

After the welcoming ceremony, the two kings had headed off to prepare the alliance, while the queen and Iona had been shown to their quarters. Angus, in a daydream-like state, had staggered up to his chambers to desperately try and sort out his thoughts. So far he'd been pacing, had bumped into his bed twice, the wall three times, and had only succeeded in tangling his thoughts even more. All under Brianna's watchful, bemused gaze. 

"Yes! I swear, I thought I was going to fall over! Then she smiled at me! She gave me just a little smile but it looked nervous too, just for a second, she looked as worried as I felt. Do you think I messed it up?"

"How exactly could you have messed it up?"

Brianna, arms folded, was leaning against the wall, steadily watching Angus's erratic path like a large owl. 

"My voice cracked! Like a child, for gods sakes! I'm nearly 19 years old, my voice shouldn't be cracking! I completely forgot what to say and then I didn't let go of her hand! Oh gods, gods above, she must think I'm such an idiot!"

Angus stopped, swayed for a moment, before collapsing on the hearth rug with all the grace of a sack of onions. Brianna snorted, shaking her head. 

"Angie, if she's got half a brain or less then Princess Iona will understand that you were just dealing with nerves. She was too! I could see that from where I was standing, she was terrified and it had nothing to do with you."

"I thought I made a complete fool of myself..." Angus scrubbed his hands over his face. 

"No. While you are very good at that when you want to be, you didn't today. I've seen plenty of boys loose far more composure than you did when faced with a pretty girl. You did okay. You want to go and talk to her?"

"No!" Angus jerked to his feet, "I'll definitely make a fool of myself if I do that!"

"By this time tomorrow you're going to be married to her, you have to talk to her at some point."

"I just want her to like me, Brianna... How do I do that?"

Brianna pushed off the wall and moved over to Angus. She very gently took his face in both her hands and gazed at him warmly. 

"Well, most girls are pretty susceptible to nice gestures. And food, food is very good at making people like you."

"Should I invite her to dinner- No! No, Angus you idiot, the banquet tonight... I can... I can offer her lunch! Do you think she'd like a picnic? That's romantic, right?"

Brianna nodded, "Fairly romantic, yes. You want me to go down to the kitchens and get a basket ready for you?"

"Oh gods, yes please!"

Brianna nodded and headed out. Angus was about to follow, but caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was still in his full ceremonial outfit and he... He looked like a smaller version of his father.

That would not do. 

If he was going to try and court Princess Iona, he should probably do it as himself. 

Angus tossed his crown onto the bed and ruffled his hair. When it was satisfactorily messy, he nodded to his reflection and headed for the door. He looked like himself again. Angus hurried through the castle halls, his mind whirling.

The door to the McDougall's quarters appeared quickly. Angus could've sworn that it was further away, and yet here he was! He took a deep, deep breath and raised his hand. It was shaking slightly. Squaring his shoulders, Angus knocked. 

After a moment, the door opened. Iona peeped out, smiled, and Angus suddenly forgot how to breathe. 

"Oh, hello Prince Angus. What can I do for you?"

"Would y- Uhm, I mean... Princess Iona, would you like to join me for a picnic?"

Iona blinked, "R-right now? Of course! I'd love to, thank you."

Angus felt his breath catch slightly. He had hoped that Iona would say yes, but he hadn't actually expected her to. He cleared his throat again, was about to speak when the princess ducked back behind the door. 

"Uh..."

"Mother!" Iona's voice was muffled, but still audible, "I'm going out for a little bit with Prince Angus an- Yes, Mother. I know, Mother. I'll be perfectly safe. Mother, it's just a picnic. I'll request an escort if it makes you feel better. Thank you."

Two minutes passed in about five years or so. Then the door opened again and Iona stepped out. She'd changed into a much less formal dress, still in that shimmering smokey blue, but more practical and without the glittering mantle.

"My Mother has requested that we have an escort accompany us, if that's alright with you."

How was he just now realising how beautiful her voice was?

"Oh, um, naturally. Ser Brianna is already waiting for us, she's an excellent knight, one of our Crownsguard."

Iona raised an eyebrow, "One of your Crownsguard? I'm not sure my parents would approve of me being without one of our knights from Edinburgh..."

There was absolutely no fear in her voice. But there was a twinkle of challenge in her eyes and a note of something like sarcasm in her voice. Angus realised, with a jolt of clarity, that Iona wasn't actually worried about the presence of an escort.

She was testing him.

"Princess, I assure you, Ser Brianna is a very honourable woman. She has no tolerance for any sort of injustice, particularly not from me."

"Is that so? Very well then." Iona smiled wryly, tilting her head a little.

She held out a hand.

Angus realised after a second that she was waiting for him to take it and escort her. As delicately as he could, he took Iona's hand and led her down to the stables. Brianna was waiting with a large basket by her feet and a trio of horses fully saddled up. Angus's favourite grey, a dun, and a chestnut that Brianna liked. She gave them a cheerful wave and a bow. 

"Your highnesses! The horses are ready, we ride at your leave."

"Thank you, Ser Brianna." Angus nodded, it felt so strange to use Brianna's title, he wasn't used to it, "Uh, Princess?"

"Yes, Prince Angus?"

"You do, uhm, do you have much experience riding?"

It felt both rude and cruel to ask, particularly as bluntly as that, but he needed to know. Angus had never spent that much time around girls, of his own age at least. There was rarely a day for the past several years when he'd been without Brianna, but she didn't count. She had tried to teach him about girls, but Brianna was the first to say that all the teaching in the world was no substitute for honest experience. 

Iona folded her arms and gave Angus the single steeliest glare he'd ever received. She raised an eyebrow slowly, and he saw Brianna's eyes widen. 

"I'm the best rider in my family. Shall we?"

"Yes, yes let's..."

The words had barely left Angus's mouth before Iona swung up onto the grey; Angus's grey. He shifted uncomfortable, and Iona smiled down at him. No, it wasn't a smile. It was a smirk. Was she testing him again? She must have noticed how tense he had just become. Brianna mounted the chestnut looking halfway between amused and nervous.

"Well, that is my horse but what the hell! I don't mind the dun."

Iona openly grinned and nodded. Hopefully he’d passed the test... Angus easily pulled himself up onto the final horse and they set off. They cantered through the city and out into the fields. As soon as they were through the gates, Iona spurred her horse into a gallop and took off. Angus gaped for a second. He was beginning to like this Princess more and more with every passing moment.

"Well, come on then Angie!"

He and Brianna kicked their horses into a charge, giving chase. Angus felt his pulse racing almost as fast as the horses. He was not confident at riding fast, he was better at long distance.

Iona was an excellent rider. 

She was fast and agile, constantly changing directions and avoiding Angus's attempts to catch up with her. They raced each other through the countryside and towards the forest. Angus reined his horse to the left, taking the path along the coast. Iona was beside him in a second, hair flowing out behind her like a curtain of flame. Beautiful...

Angus yanked the reins, skidding to a halt at the place he had picked. It was, in his opinion, the prettiest place he could think of. At short notice, anyway.

It was a small divot in a grassy hill with a magnificent view of the Tay. The city was silhouetted in the middle distance, the forest and mountains framing the land behind. The gods themselves seemed to be rooting for Angus as the grassy plane before them had bloomed with a hundred thousand tiny blue flowers that seemed to shine in the sunlight. Perfect. 

Angus dismounted easily, letting the horse graze. Iona, now a decent way ahead, came wheeling around and began galloping back. As she was doing so, Brianna dismounted and patted Angus gently on one shoulder. 

"Nice choice." She hissed, "Very romantic, it'd woo me that's for sure!"

Angus flinched. She never could miss an opportunity to make him feel uncomfortable... He took the basket with a scowl and Brianna began unfolding the blanket. Iona and her horse skidded to a halt, hooves kicking up chunks of turf. She swung down from the horse with well-practiced ease. 

"This place is lovely. Thank you for bringing me out here, Prince Angus."

"My pleasure, Princess. You ride very well." Angus gave her his best smile and held out a hand, "And please, we're going to be married soon enough. Call me Angus."

"O-oh!" There was that sudden flash of nervousness he'd seen earlier, "Well, I... Thank you, Angus. I’m Iona.”

“I know.” Angus grinned as she took his hand, “Now, what can I get for you?”

As it turned out, Brianna hadn't packed them a lot of food. However, she had clearly made an effort to get some of a higher quality than she usually gave him. Angus liked to call what she brought on training sessions "peasant food" despite the fact that it was probably more like "normal person food". He didn't really know, he didn't get out much. This food was something that Father would've approved of. 

It was primarily fine meats, cheeses, and fruits; a small loaf of bread and a little clay pot of honey. There were a pair of small flasks, one of water and one of wine. 

There was also a single, beautiful white rose lying delicately just under the cloth that covered everything. 

Angus's eyes flew to Brianna, who beamed at him. He picked up the rose like it might bite his hand and held it out to Iona. She delicately took it from him and tucked it behind one ear. While Iona poured them each a glass of wine, Angus glanced up at Brianna. Still grinning, she gave him a thumbs up and an enthusiastic nod. 

"This is very sweet of you, Angus. Thank you."

"Oh, it's my pleasure! I'd like to get to know you." He hesitated, feeling the words bubbling at the back of his throat, "And I'd like to... I don't know, apologise I guess. For what I said before..."

"Oh?" Iona's eyes narrowed, ice cold, "Please remind me, what precisely it was that you said back then?"

"Ah... I said that girls couldn't go on quests, that they could only be damsels, witches, or maids... I want to apologise for the stupid words of... Of an ignorant child...”

“Hm. I see. Are these still your thoughts?”

Angus gaped, halfway between shocked and offended. Did Iona really think so little of him? He closed his mouth with an audible click. Of course she did. He'd been being polite and nice to her, but so far Iona had no reason to believe that he'd changed. 

"No. I think about what I said an awful lot and I... I know better now. A lot better."

"You regret what you said and did?"

"Yes."

"You're not just saying this as a way to butter me up?"

"No. I was stupid then, sometimes I still am. But I'm trying my hardest not to be."

Angus unconsciously lowered his head and his gaze. That was the only reason he saw Iona move. Quick as a striking snake, her hand shot out and snapped around his wrist. Her fingers were icily cold, enough so to make him gasp. There was something on Iona's palm, something hot that was burning into Angus's skin. Then, just as suddenly as she'd grabbed him, Iona sat back. 

Angus pulled his arm back sharply, staring down at his wrist. There was a mark there. It was almost like a sunburn, but too well-defined. He'd could almost make out a shape; a thin body with two small prongs on one side, like a capital letter F. But there was something distinctly... Off about it, something different. 

"Well, you're telling the truth."

Angus looked up sharply, "What?!"

"You're telling the truth." Iona said simply, shrugging, "I can tell."

"You can tell when someone's lying by nearly burning their hand off?!"

"Yes. I can."

Iona tugged her sleeve delicately over her wrist, selected a strawberry from the basket, and took a bite. Angus gaped at her. Brianna was poised to do... Something. She was balanced on her toes like a dancer, one hand wrapped around her sword hilt. She met Angus's eyes and gave him a shrug. Angus sat back, absently rubbing at his wrist absently and staring at a patch of grass. After a long moment of near deafening silence, Iona looked up. 

"I think I owe you an explanation, don't I?"

"Yeah, that'd-" Angus stopped himself mid-shout, "Yes. That would be very much appreciated, Iona. What was that?"

Iona gave a smile which didn't reach her eyes. She rolled up her right sleeve, revealing the scrolling patterns of woad. Her upper arm and what little of her shoulder was visible had been carved into a huge, intricate tree. The roots dissolved into waves that patterned her forearm. Intricate, tightly knotted patterns surrounded everything, finally coming to a stop at her knuckles. Then there were the two he'd seen earlier; the triskelion on her wrist and a trinity knot on her hand.

Angus had never seen woad tattoos up close and felt curiously start to burn at the back of his throat. He also felt a combination of irritation and confusion; Iona had grabbed him with her left hand. 

"Woad tattoos were originally used as a form of war paint, still are in the highlands. Mine are primarily wards, designed to keep me safe, to keep evil away. Unfortunately, no amount of woad could get rid of this..."

She held up her left palm and Angus felt an instinctive shiver shoot down his spine. 

In the exact centre of Iona's palm was a mark. It was purple blue in colour, like a bruise but much too bright. Angus almost thought it was a bruise, except for how clearly defined it was. He'd never seen a birthmark that clear and precise before either. A rune. 

"This is what we call Witch's Ruin, or a Rune. They bring bad luck and misfortune, supposedly they're marks of evil magic as well. I was born with mine. Father and Mother tried everything to get rid of it for me, everything short of cutting of my hand." She gave a dry, completely humourless laugh, "Nothing worked. Eventually, I figured out that I could do certain things with it. Including telling when someone's lying to me."

"Very painfully..."

"Painfully?" Iona looked shocked, "I... I didn't know it would hurt... But I can do other things with it; I can feel people's emotions, who's been in a room recently, sometimes I can tell if there's magic nearby. Well, Prince McFife? Now that you know, how do you feel about marrying a witch?"

Brianna's sharp wave caught Angus's eye. He glanced up as she gave him a very pointed nod. Angus closed his eyes, still seeing the rune behind his eyelids. When he opened them again, Iona wasn't looking at him.

"I don't mind, if you don't. I don't think you're a witch, either. You don't strike me that way, I think evil would be more obvious. I think you've got an... Unusual, and rather beautiful, birthmark on your hand. But It's not a problem for me, unless it's a problem for you."

Brianna gave him a nod and a slow, silent round of applause.

Iona raised an eyebrow and reached out, gently taking Angus's wrist. It didn't hurt this time, though it was still hot; more like the heat of the sun on a bright Summer's day than the brand it had been before. 

"I'm not lying to you, Iona."

"No, no you're not." Iona smiled, "Thank you. It means a lot, I usually have to hide it."

"Not with me you don't." Angus reached forward and brushed a strand of hair out of Iona's face, his heart was racing, "But now that we've established that I was an idiot and you have an unusual birthmark, I'm curious. What do you get up to in Edinburgh? What do you do for fun?"

"Oh, I like going to the beach, collecting shells and pebbles. I, um, I also enjoy strategy, military tactics and things like that. Analysing old battles and trying to figure out how my strategies would effect the outcome."

"Well, that's good to hear! At least one of you will be able to do strategy.”

“Brianna...”

As she stepped forward, Angus stared up at Brianna in rapidly growing horror.

Everything had been going so well!

He'd been talking nicely to Iona, for several entire minutes, without feeling like his throat was going to close up. Brianna crouched down across from then, grinning mischievously in a way that Angus knew meant trouble. He could already feel his heart rate speeding up in panic. 

"Your Highness, I love this boy like he's my own son, but by all the gods of Dundee, he's not exactly a strategic genius.”

Angus berried his face in his hands, feeling his shoulders instinctually tense up. 

“Why are you doing this...?” He mumbled. 

“Because she deserves to know just how impulsive you can be!”

Some small, soft-spoken part of Angus knew that Brianna wasn’t doing this to hurt him. She cared too much to sabotage his date, so she must have been doing this to help him. Somehow. Another, much larger and louder part was bemoaning his entire life and the fact that he’d been saddled with a Knight who took great pleasure in embarrassing him at all times. There was also a third, very tiny part of him that was desperately repeating “my own son" like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

All three parts simultaneously noticed that Iona was speaking. He'd missed the first part but managed to get his mind back into his body in time to hear,

"-ink spontaneity is an excellent asset. The day that you become predictable is the day that you die."

"Thank you, Iona! See? See? I'm an excellent asset, apparently..."

Brianna lit up as she recognised a challenger. For the first time in a very long time, the challenger was not him, it was Iona. Angus leaned back with a sigh and a smile. His gaze tracked a small cloud as it scudded across the sky.

Beautiful and simple and sweet. 

He listened, without really hearing, to the Princess and the Knight launch into a blazing, if good natured, row about tactics and strategy. He could hear bird song, the wind in the trees, the faint rushing of the waters of the Tay. The sun was warm, the early afternoon was exceptionally beautiful, made all the more so by Iona's presence, and there were a pair of gleaming silver eagles wheeling far overhead. 

A warm feeling of contentment bubbled up in Angus's chest. This... This would all work out just fine. Everything was going to be just fine. 

<><> []==== <><>

The hilltop castle was once a rather beautiful sight.

It’s walls were built of a fine, pale stone that all but glowed in the moonlight. Most of the walls had patterns or scenes carved into them, now worn almost to invisibility by the never ending march of time. What had once been gardens were now overgrown thickets of twisted rose thorn, the moat was stagnant and green. The wind moaned through the broken walls. 

In a small room that had once been very beautiful, a figure was pacing, accompanied only by the soft sound of their footsteps and the tap tap tap of their staff. They were human sized and shaped, though slightly obscured by the long black robe that covered them head to toe. The robe was such a dark shade of black that it almost seemed to draw in the moonlight around it, and was trimmed with thick, tightly complicated Celtic knot work. 

The figure was almost invisible every time he passed out of the light of the brazier. 

He stopped by a windowsill and ran his fingertips over one of the carved frescoes. At a guess; part of the local mythology, something to do with a bear. 

After a second, he went back to the brazier. The night was bitter and he hated the cold. 

He would’ve liked to set up his main camp in a tower, he’d always liked towers. The elevation, the beautiful views, the feeling of being above people, both literally and figuratively. Yes, towers were good. 

Alas, this castle only had one tower and it had collapsed a long time ago. Most of the upper floors had, in fact. So he was stuck here, on the ground floor in a cold and drafty room that was only going to get colder as the night dragged on. He stopped by the brazier and lowered the head of his staff to the flames. 

“Teine, losgadh soilleir.”

The round, blue green gem on top of the staff glowed for a moment and the flames brightened, flickering a little higher. The wizard, because that is what he was, pulled a small flask from his belt and took a drink. He sighed. The alcohol burned a little, but at least it helped keep him warm. 

He really hated the cold...

He moved back to the window and looked out to the field between the castle and the surrounding forests. 

There they were. 

The result of twelve hundred years of meticulous research, dedication, and planning. No one had ever achieved such a feat before. No one before him had ever even dreamed of building such an army.

And yet he had done it, all by himself, with no help from the ones who had called him friend and nothing but ridicule from The Council. 

The Council... They were nothing more than a gathering of stuck up, frightened, stupid children. He had stood, poised on the verge of greatness, and they had seen fit to lecture him on his pride and presumption. 

They had looked at the work he had poured his soul into and called it insane. Over a thousand years of work and, if he was successful, the security of the future. 

Weather they liked it or not...

The Council of Arcane Lore had banished him, called him insane and foolish, they had even tried to strip him of his magic. They had failed, of course. With what he had been through? How much he had been taught? They truly thought that they could stop him? 

They could not. Not anymore. 

He had stopped caring what they thought; all that mattered now was him. 

They had called him evil. Well, that was just fine by him. It was true. If they wanted evil, then he would show them evil...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm warning you now, this is going to be very slow and very erratic to update...


End file.
